


love's a game, wanna play?

by peacheda



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5 Seconds of Summer - Freeform, 5sos AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Basically, Depression, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, NO BUT THEY ALL TURN OUT HAPPY, Prompt Fill, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Soulmate AU, Support Group, calum hates his tattoo, i love this so much, it turns out happy, malum, michael is an angel, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacheda/pseuds/peacheda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>• you remove your tattoo because you hate the idea of someone dictating who you can be with for the rest of your life and the person who's removing it happens to be your soulmate and they're torn between letting you know and just not bringing it up because you kind of went there because you didn't want a soulmate</p>
            </blockquote>





	love's a game, wanna play?

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STARTED OFF AS A CUTE PROMPT FILL i was going to have badass calum wanting to go against the system and then finding his soulmate michael whatever
> 
> BUT THEN it got super fucking depressing and i put all my heart and sadness into this and i cried like the whole time i am so emo

Calum has always hated the thought of soulmates. How could somebody you don't even know fall in love with you on the spot? It was stupid and absurd and a fucking joke.

Every day of his life, the God damned tattoo drove Calum _crazy_. He hated the need that he felt to find his soulmate, didn't want some fucking thing called fate to tell him who he was supposed to love, who was supposed to love him.

He wanted to go slow; find a pretty girl or boy, and slowly work their way up to a relationship and whispered _I love you_ 's in the dark of their shared apartment, with no other ears but their own to hear.

Soulmates scared the utter _shit_ out of him. His parents had told them, regularly, about how they met and a month later were planning their marriage and first child. Calum hated moving fast, always had been one to take his time - calculate his movements and actions. But this, this was something so foreign and strange and out of control that he absolutely despised the thought.

There were options, of course. You could get your soulmate tattoo removed, gone forever without a trace, but something always held Calum back. Sometimes, he saw his uncle, happily married with a woman that wasn't his soulmate: somebody that _he_ had chosen for himself- not fate.

But, sometimes he would see people on the internet, sad and alone and regretting the fact that they had made the choice to remove their soulmate's matching mark off of their body. Because once a person removed their tattoo, their soulmates tattoos were also gone; disappeared and leaving them with a hole in their chest and a need for antidepressants.

Unless, of course, they felt the same way, glad for their condemning mark to be gone, free to love whoever they chose.

Calum wanted to be free of this, wanted a chance at _love_ , but he knew deep down that the only way he would get true _real_ love, is if he waited out the deadly storm: waited to see the rainbow that would surely appear. 

The rainbow that _had_ to appear.

But over the years his resolve broke. As the years without his apparent soulmate carried on without a hitch, Calum became more and more against the idea of letting 'fate' choose his match.

Multiple times he found himself with a hand on the fancy glass door to the big pretty building, 'Soulmate' in beautiful cursive letters across the glass paneling. Each time his resolve to remove the tattoo broke, and his hand whipped off the handle like he had been burned, before carrying on with his day.

It haunted him, forcing itself into his thoughts daily, hourly. Calum would find himself absentmindedly scrubbing at the cursed mark in the shower, as if he was trying to scrub away _dirt_. He wouldn't notice he was doing it until it hurt _that_ much more, his fingertips coming away with smears of blood and flakes of skin.

He came to _hate_ his soulmate. The spawn of the devil that had him feeling this way, that had them tied together in a way he couldn't control or escape. 

He kept his fingernails short after that.

*

Calum still dated, experimented. Sex was pleasurable but meaningless to him, and all of his girlfriends (and boyfriends) did make him feel happy. But, the ache in his chest still grew.

By 17, nearly all of his friends had met their soulmates, or made the decision to remove their tattoos.

By 17, Calum was feeling angrier and more alone than ever. He still subconsciously scratched the damned mark upon his forearm, his short nails causing little to no damage.

His sister, Mali-Koa, a hopeless romantic at the best of times, had found her soulmate mere _days_ after Calum's 17th birthday. He was a nice boy, two years younger than her but a near four inches taller.

They were in love and it _sickened_ Calum. He put on a nice face though, congratulating the happy pair as they gushed to the Hood parents over what had happened and how they had met in a small corner coffee shop.

Calum had to retire early that night, as he sat puking his stress into a porcelain bowl.

*

A month before Calum's 18th birthday, he thought he was in love. Thought he had finally found _the one_. The girl that he would happily marry and retire with, even though they were not fate's match. They had a plan to remove their soul tattoos _together_ , as a couple ready to break the laws of destiny and love each other.

She was gorgeous: a short haired blonde with multiple ears piercings and a nose ring, who loved to sing and party and write short stories. _God_ , Calum was in love. He was head over heels for her, managing to convince himself and his aching heart that fate had messed up: that this beautiful girl was his soulmate, not the other half of his heart somewhere in the world.

Two months later, while on a date with Calum, she found her real soulmate. A clumsy waitress with two left feet had accidentally dropped Calum's spaghetti onto his date's lap. His girl had looked up, prepared to throw a bitch fit, when she _knew_.

The matching koi tattoos wrapped around their wrists only confirmed what the two girls had _felt_ , and suddenly, their hearts didn't hurt so much.

In their excitement, Calum slipped away with a burning in his eyes and a _broken_ aching heart that seemed to scream, _I told you so, I told you so!_

Calum didn't have to explain what happened to his parents as he sobbed onto his mother's chest that night.

*

Calum became cold, laughing at the younger kids who tried to ask him out, an aching, _longing_ shell of what he once was. He stopped trying in school, resorting to getting detentions for backtalk and missing assignments. 

He regularly went to get tattoos added to his body, anything to distract him from the black ink that had once been a masterpiece etched onto his skin. It was just a painful reminder of what he didn't have, nowadays.

He became known as the Sydney 'bad boy', getting drunk or high more often than not, and had more meaningless sex than most players his age.

Calum liked to pretend, in the middle of a mind-blowing climax, that the girl, or boy, beneath him wasn't just a meaningless fuck. He liked to pretend that the one beneath him was his soulmate, and that they were _making love._

Calum's heart ached a little bit more each night.

His parents signed him up for a support group for young adults still searching for their soulmate and _aching_. Calum despised it before he even showed up. Still, he went, thinking that if nothing else he could pick up a fuck buddy that also wanted to lose them-self.

Instead, against all of his best wishes, he had found a friend.

He was the oldest in the group, a tall long-haired beauty; but he was also the most broken.

He shared his story, albeit reluctantly, about how his enemy wanted to get back at him for stealing his best friend.

The enemy, Louis as he was named, was _pissed_ when his best friend Harry ditched him to start hanging out with the long haired boy, _Ashton_ , and formulated a rather _disgusting_ plan. 

Louis hired a young boy, Mark, to get a temporary tattoo.

A tattoo that matched Ashton's soulmate tattoo.

Louis payed Mark a great sum of money to play the role of Ashton's _soulmate_ , and it had gone on for a solid two _months_. Then, in front of the entire school, had asked Ashton, in a very elaborate and beautiful way, to prom.

When Ashton was about to squeal a _yes!_ , Mark had yelled, "Sike!", and using a tad bit of soap, scrubbed the ink right off of his forearm with ease. 

Ashton never went back to that school.

He still has prominent scars to show the aftermath of such a stunt.

Calum had to rush outside to throw up.

*

They bonded, the two broken boys against a system set by fate. Except they weren't; Ashton still avidly looked out for his soulmate, wanting to find the beautiful boy to fix his hurting soul.

 _How do you know your soulmate will makes things better?_ Calum had once asked, laying in the dark with his legs tangled with Ashton's, dried tear tracks on both of their cheeks.

 _Because they_ have _too_ , Ashton had spoken quietly, staring at something behind Calum's shoulder. _Because I don't know if I can keep living if they can't._

They didn't talk about soulmates again, and Calum let his fingernails grow out.

*

They kept going to the Wednesday night support group, Ashton and his bubbly attitude and beautiful _broken_ smile doing everything he could to help the others. Calum sat next to him, but didn't speak a word, in a daze as he listened to the others talk about their problems.

Calum and Ashton moved into an apartment together, the Hood parent's happily paying for the small two bedroom, one bath near the support group and Ashton's work at a local auto-shop.

And if, late at night, Calum had to clean up a sobbing Ashton and bloody wrists, he didn't say anything.

And if, late at night, Ashton had to clean up a blank-eyed Calum and a bloody, scratched up forearm, he didn't say anything.

*

Calum and Ashton seemed to just _work_ together. With Ashton's upbeat personality, and Calum's sarcastic snaps, they seemed to fit. Ashton's stepdad had kicked him out of the house for being gay, Calum had learned late one night as he bandaged Ashton's wrists.

 _He didn't want me to corrupt the kids_ , Ashton had choked out, staring up at his tanned best friend with wide, searching eyes. It whispered the sentence like a prayer, clenching the offending piece of metal tighter with each repetition. Then, he stopped, dropping the wet, red object onto the tile flooring. His eyes clenched shut as he let out a shuddering sob.

_He told me I was diseased and I believed him._

*

Calum began stopping in front of the offending glass paneled building more and more frequently, blank, brown eyes seeming to see through it. As if coming out of a trance, he would shake his head and continue on, never taking a single look back.

Seven days previous he had stopped in front of _Soulmate_ , glaring at the one-way glass, glaring at the monster that was _Calum Hood_. He was about to leave, _disgusted_ , when a boy that had been smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk called out to him.

 _Hey!_ The red haired boy had called, a wild feather stuck behind a pierced ear, but Calum was already lost within the busy crowd.

Late that night, if Calum's poisonous thoughts drifted to happier ones of a red haired boy and a house with a white picket fence, he didn't say anything about it.

Calum cut his nails just a bit.

*

No matter how broken they felt, Ashton had begged Calum during a late night cuddle,  
both of them wrapped in staining bandages.

_Never, never kill yourself, please. Never kill yourself and never try anything worse than weed, please._

Calum kept Ashton's words close, and followed them to the word. He was offered cocaine, meth, and _so_ many other drugs at every party he attended but he _always_ shoved them away.

Sometimes, in the eerie silence, he would imagine what it's like: to never breathe again, to not see another sunset or sunrise, to never again hear the beat of the drums fill his ears as he blasted his favorite music within the apartment or just his own ears. Whenever his thoughts strayed subconsciously to death, a pretty feathered boy brought him back.

He wanted to hate the boy.

But he knew he didn't.

He couldn't.

*

Ashton wasn't at support group that Wednesday, he told Calum he was sick, 

_Just a little influenza._

Ashton had said, but Calum knew better. His mental hurt was too strong to bear and he needed a day of others not depending on him.

_I'm not going to support without you._

Calum had said, but Ashton knew better. Two hours later he was in a hard plastic chair, blankly staring at the peach colored wall behind the leader's head.

A new boy had joined the support group, a tall, lanky blond named Luke. He was taller than any of the others in the group, but for some reason unknown to any but God, he seemed to curl up the smallest.

He had anxiety, scared to death of never finding his soulmate. He stuttered and looked as if any moment he would break into body wrecking sobs.

Calum pitied him.

Luke talked about how he used to be worse, much worse. When he couldn't even speak, and all he did was shake like a frail leaf. 

_My best friend_ , Luke had said quietly, sweater paws linked together in his lap as he sat crisscross. _Momma thinks he's an angel, he helps people; puts 'em back together without even trying._

Calum's thoughts subconsciously strayed to a boy with pretty green eyes and smoke puffing from his lips.

 _An angel_. Luke would repeat quietly to himself like a prayer.

 _An angel_. Calum would gasp as the tears fled down his face and his heart ached so much more.

After support, Calum had caught up to Luke, who was nervously waiting outside, anxiously moving his gaze in every direction, head rapidly turning.

The two had made eye contact, and Luke had relaxed, albeit a very small amount, and they nodded to each other. Two broken boys clinging to each other as the wind threatened to blow them away.

And maybe Calum's heart hurt a little bit less. 

*

They say making eye contact with you soulmate is greater than any feeling you could even imagine; that you don't even need tattoos go solidify the fact that you were each other's other half. That you suddenly felt, well, _whole._

Ashton had cried. No, _sobbed_.

It was three Wednesday's and thirteen bloody cleanups later, Ashton had gotten through his slump, agreeing to come with Calum back to support group, even though he never asked.

His head had been bowed, following after Calum like a lost puppy. Ashton had sat down, before finally looking up at the faces he had missed for the passed month.

He made eye contact with a beautiful boy and he _knew_ , he fucking _knew_.

And suddenly, life wasn't so bad anymore. 

The boys met in the middle of the group with a clang, trying to pull the other half of their soul _closer, closer, closer_.

The others' watched on in surprise, even Calum's blank eyes seemed to widen dramatically.

The two boys crumpled together in a pile of tears and heartfelt _I love you_ 's.

Calum left.

*

The boy moved into Calum and Ashton's apartment. Calum didn't mind, he told himself, _anything to make Ashton happy_.

Luke and Ashton got better together; two broken pieces melded together with love and a little TLC.

Calum's resolve from years ago came back full force late one night, when he realized Ashton's broken smile wasn't quite broken anymore, and Luke's anxiety was near nonexistent.

Calum hadn't had to clean up any bloody wrists since Ashton met Luke.

_Only his own._

*

For the first time in nearly three years, Calum opened the door.

The inside of the glass paneled Hell was even nicer than the outside, with white leather couches and black carpets.

Calum made an appointment with a happy looking woman that reminded him too much of the girl that had ended up being his girlfriend's soulmate.

Turns out it was.

They had an opening for a soulmate tattoo removal in twenty minutes, so Calum took a seat.

He wanted to feel _happy_.

Calum's blank stare was turned to the _tic, tic, tic_ 'ing black clock, his darkening thoughts springing from the dark chambers of his infested mind, and he let them.

_Red hair._

He hadn't seen the boy since, but that didn't stop him from thinking about him. He couldn't stop _himself_ from thinking about the boy.

But his thoughts always strayed back to Luke, and the two little words he would still utter subconsciously when Ashton was away at work.

_An angel._

Maybe Calum _had_ found an angel, _his_ angel.

He waited for nearly forty nine minutes, mind zoned out, eyes blank.

 _She_ came forth, beckoning Calum to follow her down the too-bright white hallway. But, he followed. He went willingly, chocolate eyes squinted against the white light and the eerie quietness of the aesthetically perfect building. 

He was led into a maroon colored room, different than the rest of the building, Calum noted as his beady eyes scanned the room _slowly_.

He calculated his steps and his movements, tapping his fingers against the stretched fabric of his black skinny jeans slowly.

The girl hurried away, leaving him alone in the enclosed space, with only his mind and maroon colored walls.

He took in how calculated all of the medical instruments placements were, and took a seat on the patient's chair. The crisp, white sheet crinkled under his body's movements, and Calum allowed his body to relax against the stiff padding.

 _Angel_.

Calum's head repeated the word _over_ and _over_ until he couldn't remember the definition or the spelling of it. All he could think about was a mess of red hair and a dangling cigarette.

And an all white, _pure_ , feather.

Calum wanted to cry.

What felt like hours later, he heard a door creaking open to the right, on the opposite side of where he came in. He knew he needed to open his eyes, but he stubbornly kept them closed until he heard an almost.. _angelic_ voice speak from his side.

"Hello!" The deep, _beautiful_ , voice said.

Calum merely nodded, opening his eyes to stare ahead _blankly_ at the disgusting maroon wall.

"Can I take a look at the soulmate tattoo I will be removing today?" The voice spoke again, and Calum nodded again, lifting his other arm to peel away the bandage of his tattoo.

 _A dove_.

At least, that's what it had been, before Calum's scratching had torn lines and slashes through the ink, that always _always_ came back no matter how hard he scratched. 

The worker let out a startled gasp, dropping whatever was in his hand as he took a floundering step back.

Calum, confused, turned his blank state to the man beside him.

A dove.

 _Calum cried_.

They made eye contact, chocolate brown and emerald green, and both filled with tears. 

Calum didn't feel whole, but he also didn't feel broken.

He felt like he was _healing_. 

The red haired boy and his angelic feather cried in relief, falling to his knees as he stared with wide eye at

 _his. soul. mate_.

Suddenly, the world didn't feel so dark anymore.

And if you looked, Calum's blank stare wasn't quite so blank anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm thinking of making this a multi chapter fic ao tell me if you liked it? constructive criticism ???? thanks :-)


End file.
